


close your eyes and come back

by aspiringpencilcase



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: F/F, Grief/Mourning, M/M, its mostly a take on mikleo between the end of the game and the epilogue, mentions of death since seraphim's lifespan and stuff, roseali is Heavily Implied™
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 03:03:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7557568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aspiringpencilcase/pseuds/aspiringpencilcase
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>sorey falls asleep, leaving mikleo waiting for him to wake up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	close your eyes and come back

Everywhere Sorey went, he left a piece of his heart, Mikleo thinks sometimes. He’s got a plenty of time to reflect on his past, their past; cold silences and aching gaps where Sorey’s laughter used to spill, bubbly and sparkling, rose champagne and summer rains.

He left a piece of his heart in Mikleo too, Mikleo’s sure of it. It’s settled neatly inside his ribcage, inside his lungs, warming up the very air he breathes; in, out.

It gets easier, with time. It doesn’t let up, at all, but you get used to your shoes digging into your calves, leaving ugly red lines and scratching your skin. You get callouses, nerves shield themselves from constant pain, life goes on.

Everyone told him it will, eventually, but no one warned him about the constant emptiness in the shape of Sorey, no one. Even Lailah, who, honestly, should’ve known better. Sometimes Mikleo thinks he gets her, the way her profile stands sharp against the sky, eyes open wide and unseeing. 

Then Lailah smiles and turns to face him. She looks every bit the same as she did when Mikleo first met her, but he’s different now - he notices the words unsaid, the stillness of Lailah’s smile. It’s unsettling to think he might look the same.

“Your hair has grown quite a bit, Mikleo. It really suits you!”

Mikleo touches the tip of his ponytail, his hair tickles his fingertips. His ponytail reaches his shoulders now; he likes it quite enough not to cut it. 

(also, it’s a clock of some sorts. it swings as he walks, left to right to left; a pendulum, counting seconds. seconds turn to minutes, minutes - to hours, hours - to days, days - to years.

years, in their turn, pass by and form centuries. sorey sleeps.)

He feels the corners of his mouth lift in a slight smile. 

“Edna decided that it gives her the perfect opportunity to call me a pretty boy. At this point I’m growing it out just to spite her.”

Lailah sighs, full of mock annoyance; her eyes, however, betray her amusement. 

“I would scold you for acting like children, but you’ve been at it for centuries. I doubt my nagging would stop you.”

Mikleo just hums. Being with Lailah, talking to her is easy: they complement each other somehow; warm, friendly dance of fire and cold, determined water current. 

They don’t meet often, having their responsibilities and all: Mikleo, Edna and Zaveid patrol the lands, destroying remaining hellions, while Lailah stays in Ladylake, true to her temple. It’s rare that Mikleo comes to visit, but the flow of time has always been kind to seraphim, so Mikleo is only dimly aware of how the time stretches and passes between their meetings.

Every time he comes to Ladylake, he stays for a few days, just measuring the streets with his footsteps, watching people roam around. The level of malevolence is decreasing with each passing day, and Mikleo breathes easy: that means that Maotelus is slowly returning to life. 

It wasn’t always that simple, though. For the first ten years or so (Mikleo doesn’t remember, doesn’t want to return to the red waves of helpless anger; the only thing remaining from this period is the memory of his staff, ice cold in his hand, and finishing off hellions, again and again and one more time) the malevolence stayed on the same level it was before the war and Mikleo kept wondering if Sorey’s sacrifice was for nothing at all, if there’s nothing left for them, no dream and no hope for the better. 

But the sun rose, and the lands healed. The pace was slow, gradual, but it was there. Mikleo knew that things were changing, but it was an incident, as always, that made the final puzzle piece fall to its rightful place.

Mikleo still remembers the girl’s face, round and curious, and her dark skin. 

She was the first human outside their little circle who tried to talk to him.  
_  
“Why do you look so sad?”_

_Mikleo doesn’t even realize that the question is coming from a little girl sitting next to him on a bench in the main square of Ladylake. She’s human, no doubt, yet she sees him; wants to talk to him. He’s too startled to answer her properly: the first thing he manages to say is hushed “Can you see me?”_

_The girl blinks at him, clearly not understanding what the fuss is all about, and nods._

_Mikleo looks at his hands, skin rough and covered with callouses from his staff, and allows himself a small smile._

_“I’m a seraph, you see. My name is Mikleo. What’s your name?”_

_Her eyes snap wide open, lit by an instant smile full of wonder._

_“A real seraph? Like in Celestial Record? That’s amazing! And my name is Amela!”_

_Her enthusiasm burns Mikleo, like being under the sun for too long burns human skin. He’s long accustomed to the empty space inside his chest, to the sharp edges of the world outside, as if destined to get in the way of his every move. Mikleo is instantly reminded of Alisha, with her steel determination and bright gaze, and, of course, of Sorey; but he absolutely cannot allow himself to delve into this particular topic, so he turns to face Amela._

_“Yes, just like there. Do you like this book?”_

_Amela positively looks like she is going to burst from excitement, her previous interest in Mikleo’s sour face long gone._

_They get into a long discussion of ruins depicted in the Celestial Record; Mikleo rediscovers memories of the people and ancient buildings he come across during his journeys. Amela watches him, eagerness to learn filling her narrow brown eyes, bombards him with questions and keeps smiling that charmed smile of hers._

_The sun is close to the horizon when Amela demands to hear all about the Shepherd. Of course, flashes in Mikleo’s mind, this was bound to happen. It was, after all, the proof that the Celestial Record wasn’t just a legend and an archeology guide, but a written record of a story happened long ago. Mikleo takes a deep breath, intertwines his fingers without really thinking and begins the tale of the Shepherd._

_He tells Amela how they first met Alisha (Amela’s eyes go round at that, “Knight-commander Alisha? What was she like? Was she as cool as she is now?”), about Rose and her double life, about Lailah and Dezel and Edna and Zaveid. About Sorey._

_Mikleo is prepared to feel the familiar dull ache of loss touching his ribs with its frosty fingers; it’s not the first time, not even the tenth, he’s used to it. It’s fine._

_Except it doesn’t come._

_He talks about Sorey’s warmth and radiance, describes his complete inability to lie, even retelling the infamous episode of his marriage to Rose, which almost bring tears of laughter to Amela’s face. He hears the ghost of Sorey’s laughter, his chest is warm; he breathes._

_“Where is he, though? Why is Rose the Shepherd now?” Amela asks, tilting her head a little._

_For some reason, Mikleo smiles. Hope is filling his veins, mixing with his blood and making his heart beat steadier; he hasn’t felt like this for a long, long time._

_“He’s away on important business, but he will return. Sooner or later, at the very least.”_

_“I would like to meet him, and the knight-commander, and Rose, and everyone! I will tell everyone seraphim are real, okay?”_

The steady flow of Mikleo’s memories is interrupted by Lailah, who’s waving her hand in front of his eyes. She doesn’t look all that concerned: it’s far more probable that she just got bored sitting in complete silence watching him deep in thought, and, anyway, she is used to him drifting off here and there. 

“What were you thinking about?” Lailah asks, more out of habit than anything else. 

“Do you remember Amela? I was just recalling how I first met her.”

Lailah lights up with delight, which is, in turn, tingled with sorrow, light and ever-present. She adored Amela right from the moment Mikleo first introduced them to each other and Amela returned the feeling fiercely. The only creature in their close-knit group she loved more was the red clumsy cat named Morgana, which was Rose and Alisha’s. Rose used to laugh, loud and unabashed, when she left her red fur all over Amela and Alisha, who scolded her in return. 

“A pity Amela never got to meet Sorey,” Mikleo says all of a sudden. Lailah eyes turn guilty right this moment. It’s a bit of a sore topic, Mikleo knows.

They visit the graveyard every once in a while. Not every year, but once in three years either Mikleo or Lailah put flowers on Rose and Alisha’s grave; they are buried together, just as they wanted; and to honour Amela, who’s resting just a few meters away. Mikleo is sure Edna and Zaveid visit as well, just in different times - Edna doesn’t want to be seen at the human graveyard and Mikleo has no clue what kind of wind rules Zaveid’s head, so there is that. 

Unlike Rose and Alisha and Amela, the seraphim have the luxury of time, of waiting. Mikleo still remembers that Alisha asked him to pass regards from Rose and Alisha herself before she passed away, dry voice and closed eyes; the desperate look Rose gave him afterwards. It’s a heavy weight to carry around; the luxury becoming a curse with each death. 

“We’ll tell him all about her.” Lailah’s voice is sure, steady. “It’s won’t be the same, of course, but I think Sorey needs to know. He would like her a lot.”

Mikleo nods. 

There are so many things he wants to tell Sorey about; so many sunrises he’d like to admire with him, their fingers curled together; so many seconds he’d rather spend breathing in the familiar scent of Sorey’s hair than doing anything else, but. There’s always a but, Mikleo finds himself thinking, sadness never quite leaving his thoughts, colouring them blue.

He glances at the entrance of the temple. There’s a human talking with seraphim, and this isn’t an unusual occasion by any means these days. The conversation is hushed, yet seems peaceful enough. The seraph makes a small fireball appear in her palm; the young woman talking to her seems completely enamoured. 

Lailah giggles next to him, covering her mouth with her palm. The heavy air surrounding them releases its choking hold on Mikleo’s throat, and he exhales.

He promised Sorey to wait for him; young, passionate, scared. He might have seen despair and loss and ache, carved into his very bones as a reminder; but those aren’t the things that matter. Sorey fought hard for the better future, he was their beacon, their hope incarnate and to let go of this hope is to let go of Sorey himself.

And so Mikleo waits.  
_  
Days turn to years, years - to centuries._

_Sorey wakes._


End file.
